Tilted
by Sword of Romance
Summary: In which Balthier's life is tipped on end, and Fran puts it to rights. BalFran. Spoilers for Pharos and beyond.


Authoress' Notes: Yeah, I know, shock, I'm not dead! Actually -for anyone who read my other works and cares- I've written a lot of stuff since the last time I posted something, but haven't posted anything because I'm still editing and/or forgot and/or decided not to post. So yes, something new. One-shot, no possibility for another chapter, very obviously BalFran, some spoilers for everything BalFran post-Ridorana Cataract (i.e. Pharos) to beginning of Revenant Wings. Enjoy!

_**Tilted**_

She was a gift, Bathier decided, watching her sleep in their cabin as they flew toward Balfonheim. She'd brought him back to himself just when he needed it. He smoothed an errant lock of hair back out of her face and smiled sadly.

_That's what a sky pirate does. You fly, don't you?_

With those words she'd reminded him of everything he'd become and what he'd traded his hollow life in Arcades for - wings. She'd reminded him of his freedom and of all the wonderful parts of his life, everything he'd gained in the face of everything he'd lost. He'd lost his father, but he'd gained the skies.

He'd almost lost Fran today too, he remembered with an uncomfortable swallow. She'd wanted him to leave her there, leave her to the mercy of the mist. Not bloody likely. She stirred a little and Balthier remembered he should be going back to the cockpit and taking the controls back from Vaan, but he couldn't seem to get up. He supposed Vaan needed the experience anyways, and Penelo and Basch would keep the boy from doing anything too ridiculous, but still . . .

With a resigned sigh he shifted, stretching out next to Fran and pulling her sleeping form up tight against him. She stirred a little and fell quiet again, silvery-white hair brushing along his jawline. Balthier smiled a little. For a moment, he could pretend it was just another night, the Strahl flying on autopilot and he and Fran lying there in the dark after a successful heist and a long night of . . . _celebrating_. With a sigh his thoughts turned to his father.

_Fool of a pirate._

'I love you too . . . Father.'

"You think of Cidolfus." It wasn't a question. Fran turned over, coming to rest on her back so she could look up at him. He smiled ruefully, "You know me too well Fran."

"Perhaps. How fare you?" The viera asked, reaching up one clawed hand to rest on his cheek as before, nails just barely raking his hair.

"You nearly died of mist poisoning and you ask how _I_ fare? You are a marvel Fran." Balthier shook his head, amused.

"Yes, ask I shall. You lost him today, and nearly I as well. Tell me not that you remain unaffected by the events that were wrought in the Sun-Cryst's womb." Fran frowned up at him, hand trailing into his hair and down his neck absently. If the circumstances were different she might have been off to a wonderful start seducing him, and if not for her mist poisoning he might have let her.

Regretfully he got a handle on his body's reactions and smiled faintly at Fran instead. "Of course I was affected Fran, what do you take me for, the villain?"

Quietly she continued to watch him, clawed fingers taking up a soothing rhythm, trailing from hair to neck to shoulder and back again. He would tell her when he was ready, but for right now, she could just lay there with him.

He smiled a little at her. He could almost pretend the day hadn't happened, almost pretend he hadn't almost had to worry about what he would do without this woman who owned him heart and soul, and about the father he'd left behind and had seen just once more in that moment before he died, when Cidolfus Demen Bunansa had faded away and only his father remained, free of Venat and once again the man he'd worshiped as a child.

"He is at peace now, free of Venat." Fran pointed out, still stroking patterns over and over against his skin, patterns of protection woven by viera since times unremembered.

"He's at peace, but what of us?" He asked, thumb skimming her stomach beneath her veil.

"You have a plan, unless I am very much mistaken, do you not?" It wasn't really a question. If he was preparing Vaan to take the Strahl for a while he most certainly had a course of action in mind.

"Of course. I was thinking a vacation was in order. Perhaps a little place on the Phon Coast, you know, white sand, tropical drinks, that sort of thing." The sky pirate drawled, waving a hand in the air idly. If he expected Fran to roll her eyes he was pleasantly surprised. She only nodded, half-lidded eyes watching her fingers weave their patterns.

"How long?" She finally asked. Balthier, almost asleep, took a moment to answer. "A year or so I think, unless you have a different time frame in mind?"

"Mmm. And where will we find this little place on the Phon Coast?" Fran asked, tracing patterns onto the front of his vest.

"There's a secluded little place on the north end which has recently become the property of one Ffamran Mied Bunansa and it would be a shame if it remained empty as it has been for the last decade or so." Balthier grinned sleepily, watching the viera shake her head.

"And what are we to do there?" Fran moved her tracing to his back, working on the laces of his vest with the other hand.

"Enjoy the four 's's of course. And when we decide we want to get back to work, we simply have to reclaim the Strahl from the children." The pirate sat up slightly and pulled his vest over his head before settling beside her once more, arm curling around her waist.

"It was not that long ago that you were their age." The viera reminded him quietly.

"I'd like to think I was never quite that tactless and naive." He sounded indignant and she repressed her smile at his vanity.

"Perhaps, or perhaps not." Fran smirked mischievously -a remarkable copy of his own favorite expression - and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Fran."

She smiled, and his world tipped back into balance.

A/N: I have recently come to the conclusion this snippet has no plot. Just Balthier musing and rather pointless fluff. Oh well, plot's overrated anyways, maybe next time.


End file.
